


the misery/the stars

by caandlelit



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Getting Back Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28107390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caandlelit/pseuds/caandlelit
Summary: It's insane, he thinks, how just one less phone call can affect you.(where is home? where is your pleasure where is your youth)
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 20
Kudos: 64





	the misery/the stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherrytreebridge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrytreebridge/gifts).
  * Inspired by [tis the damn season](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28019472) by [cherrytreebridge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrytreebridge/pseuds/cherrytreebridge). 



> the dorothea fic inspired by ashley's tis the damn season fic ..... i hope it lives up to it man rip

_Cause it's never too late to come back to my side_

_The stars in your eyes shined brighter in Tupelo_

_And if you're ever tired of bеing known for who you know_

_You know that you'll always know me_

  
  
Taylor Swift, dorothea, evermore 2020  
  
  
  
  
  


('Who is it?' he asks, after a long, frozen moment.

Takahiro shakes his head silently. His hands are clutching Issei's so tightly, white-knuckled and shaking.

Issei can't hold himself back from smoothing his thumbs over them, getting them to go still, and he can't find it in himself to regret it even when Takahiro's eyes shut tightly, mouth tight and white like he's holding back tears.

He knows it's not about anyone else, knows it's about how he's fucked up, how they've fucked up, let themselves go to waste.

_What a waste._

He still had to ask, though. Wonders, if there will be someone else, wonders how long it is till his gap is filled.

So he says,

'Kiss me.'

A ragged inhale.

'Issei-'

He leans in and begs, voice thick, 'Just _one_.'

Takahiro's eyes are wet with unshed tears and his lips are parted, twisted and Issei can see the guilt written into the lines of his face. 

_Gorgeous. He's still so gorgeous._

God, but he's fucked up. Wishes he could feel anything more than the pain and guilt, wishes he wasn't bitter, wishes he wasn't in this hurt, faded kind of love.

'Please.' 

Takahiro's eyes have gone dark grey like storm clouds and Issei wets his lips, trying to hold back his tears. His eyes dip down, and Issei watches as Takahiro watches his lips.

'Just one, Hiro. One-' He swallows. 'One last kiss.'

Takahiro inhales shakily and Issei's hand is reaching for his hair before he can think, threading into the pink dyed locks. They're longer than they were when they were kids.

He's ready to drop onto his knees right there, in the corner of their old high school gym. 

Issei is made up of weary regrets and everlasting love for Takahiro. 

'One- please. Please-' His voice breaks, and Takahiro whispers quietly, heartbroken, ' _Issei.'_

His pretty eyes are wide, wide like the moon.

'C'mon, Hiro. Sweetheart.' He cups the back of his neck, clutching for something, reaching, trying for more. His fingertips poking into the soft hairs at his nape.

_Give me something_.

'Something to remember you by.'

He waits a beat, and it spills out again, 'Please.' 

Takahiro sighs and leans in and Issei absolutely melts into him, chanting in his head, _thankyou thankyou thankyou._

He shudders into it, mouth almost slack as he kisses him as best as he can through the hot salt tears pouring down his cheeks, hiccuping and his throat swelling.

After a long minute that he burns into his mind, his mouth is still and he's just pressed up against Takahiro, fingers tight in his and his hand on his neck, thumb pressing into the hollow behind his ear.

Issei keeps his eyes clamped shut, breathing unsteadily against Takahiro's perfect mouth, nose congested and heart torn and shredded and willing it to stay like this, praying that it isn't over, that this is some cruel joke.

_Please don't pull away. Please don't pull away. Please don't pull away please don't leave me-_

Takahiro leans in closer and deepens the kiss for one, fiery, dizzying second, then tugs back, away, and says a low goodbye.

Issei bites a wound into his lip as he stares at the clean floor, watching his tears fall down. He almost can't bring himself to watch Takahiro leave.

But he looks up, last minute.

Takahiro looks back, his pale, drawn in face and hollow cheeks. 

Issei almost can't see him through the blur in his eyes.

He sits down heavily on the bench as Takahiro walks out of his view, out of his life.

He buries his face into his forearms and cries.)

  
  
  
  
  
  


Out of sight, out of mind, they say.

Issei doesn't think he could truthfully say that he's stopped thinking about Takahiro.

For all intents and purposes his life should be much the same, after that evening.

Just one less phone call, isn't it. 

It's insane, he thinks, how just one less phone call can affect you.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Time passes. 

Issei tries to forget him.

He wishes he could say he did, that he forgot, that he moved on.

It's impossible, though. It's impossible to move on from him.

Issei sees him fucking everywhere.

Every little thing, cats he'd send pictures of to him in the alley, the bakery next to his work that he'd spent so many evenings at while thinking of him, driving past the park where they'd had their first kiss.

Long nights in his bed thinking of the night Takahiro had stayed over, once, and he cries, so much, too much over him.

He sits in his room and opens the box beneath his bed and reads and rereads the letters, the papers shoved beneath windowsills and slipped into coat pockets and sent over from Tokyo for the billionth time.

The endnotes and the goodbyes leave his eyes swollen and red and his breath gone, tears gathering in the hollow of his throat. 

' _Yours forever'_

_'Your one and only'_

_'Your sweetheart'_

Issei will never be done crying over him.

In his car, the stolen moments in the backseat, the kiss over the gearstick, Issei spends days with his hand on his steering wheel and his jaw clenched as he tries not to look at the passenger seat.

He thinks of him, and at night, he dreams of him. 

Issei goes to work and thinks of him. He drives home and thinks of him. He makes dinner for one and thinks of him. He lies in bed and turns over on his side and sees the blank right side of his bed and shuts his eyes instantly, and has to go get a smoke so his fingers stop shaking with need and loneliness.

He lights one up on his balcony and looks out over his small town, looks up at the stars that Takahiro can't see in the polluted city sky and wonders if it's possible to die of loneliness.

God knows he wants to at times.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Issei spends time with his siblings and tries to heal from the loss. He supposes one might say it works. 

Only to an extent though.

His younger brother is in the same English class as Takahiro's little sister and they're friends, though they get awkward and drift apart as the years go by. His older sister tells him he'll move on, tries to talk sense to him. 

He can't explain to her how hard it is, because he doesn't really get it himself.

Issei smokes and meets his friends and converses with the elderly and ignores the pitying stares of the people who'd called it, those who said they knew it wouldn't last.

He meets Takahiro's mother in the grocery store and helps her carry her bags to her car, musters up a smile when she kisses his cheek in thanks. 

He ignores the coffee stain in the backseat from that morning when Takahiro had kissed his cheek for the first time and Issei had turned and kissed him so hard he'd almost spilt his whole cup of coffee, nearly burnt his hand.

They'd laughed it off and Takahiro's older sister had shaken her head in the driver's seat.

Takahiro's mother is a blessing.

He has tea with her every once in a while. She's always been like a mother to him, with his own parents' threats to kick him out when they'd found out about Takahiro, she'd been a pillar at the time.

She still is, even now. He tries to show how grateful he is with little actions, he makes her tea.

He never asks how Takahiro is, and she is too understanding of his nature to tell him unasked. But god, does he want to.

Her eyes are way too much like Takahiro's, and the guilt wells up in him every second spent trading small talk with her.

He spends a lot of time in his apartment, the first year.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Issei comes alive in wintertime.

Takahiro stays in Tokyo year round except for the winter holidays, when he comes to visit his family.

It's the only time Issei ever catches a glimpse of him.

He's ashamed to say but he knows and his friends know and his siblings know and truly, anyone that looks knows that Issei lives on those moments. 

Looking up through the window at the funeral home and seeing him walk past, and quickly looking down before he sees.

It leaves his cheeks burning like he's in high school and in the class across from Takahiro's, watching him daydream through the window with his face flushed.

Back then, of course, Takahiro would look back.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The years go by. Issei is twenty eight and thinking of growing a beard. Takahiro's mother tells him it'd suit him, and he laughs and thanks her. 

He's doing fine. 

The first year had been the worst, had been damn near impossible, wishing things left and right, dreaming of moving to the city to be with him.

Issei almost does it, so many times.

But Takahiro broke it off, and he's too much of a coward, too much of a worrier, they don't text and he doesn't know what's going on inside his mind.

That doesn't mean he doesn't spend hours standing by the train station, though. 

Every time he so much as walks past, his mind is overrun by dreams, and he knows that if Takahiro came back to him for even a weekend, he'd take it. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Yeah, Issei is mostly wistful, now.

He'll never stop feeling the guilt, he thinks. Of all the feelings that come back seasonally, every December without fail, the guilt is the most stark, leaves him reeling.

He'll never stop feeling guilty about not trying hard enough, about not spending enough time on him, about not making an effort to visit more.

He'd never, _ever_ thought that he'd let Takahiro be the one that got away.

Issei feels like shit about it, but he mostly feels wistful.

He dreams of long gone days and nights and evenings and mornings spent next to Takahiro, dreams of his laughter and his wide, unashamed smile pressed against Issei's flushed cheek.

Dreams of when they were happy, and not bitter and tired and apathetic.

He blames himself. He walks past their old high school and the cherry blossom trees remind him of his cheeks and hair and his fingertips. He'd always get Issei to give him a glove, and Issei would hold his other hand.

He shakes off the memories, shivers through the nights. 

It's pointless to dream about it. Life moves on, with or without Hanamaki Takahiro's legs tangled with yours in the sheets.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The first time he'd thought he was done crying, Issei had taken the small black box buried in his underwear drawer to the river.

He'd stood on the bank for about half an hour, staring at the water, clean and blue and the scent of spring surrounding him.

In the end, he had run a hand over his face and muttered, 'God, who am I kidding,' and went back home to his lonely apartment, black velvet box still in the pocket of his coat.

Issei spent his longest, best years thinking he was gonna marry him. 

He's never been a wanderer. Issei is comfortable in his hometown, comfortable in the apartment and job he'd known he was going to have.

His home is wherever Takahiro is. He'd realized it at age seventeen, on the train home from some volleyball game in another prefecture, the compartment crowded so Takahiro had leaned into his chest as they bantered senselessly, tired from the match and uncaring of the display of affection.

Issei had been blown apart into pieces when Takahiro had looked up at him while he spoke, relaxed and tired and cheeks still bright with a sheen of sweat. 

His breath had hitched mid sentence, and he'd known that was it, he was gone, he was never coming back from this. 

In that moment, fingers tight around the handrail and arm holding up a tired sweaty gorgeous man, Issei had promised himself that was it. 

Issei had _known_ that _this_ was _it_ , in his heart and mind and body that there wasn't gonna be another soul in the world who could capture him the way Takahiro had.

Now it's gone but a decade of pure, sweet loving doesn't go away easily.

Sometimes it dulls into a light ache in him, mirrored by the ache in Takahiro, miles away. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


(But in winter.)

  
  
  
  


Almost thirty and Issei is at the station again for no reason in particular, half wondering if he should suck it up and take a train right to him, get on his knees and beg for him back.

He shakes his head and huffs amusedly, only half bitter.

There's no way he's doing that. He's gone now. Issei will die alone, an old man, his last words will be a scolding to his brother.

He's done for and he's made his peace with it.

He almost misses him.

Issei is walking away, but something takes a hold of him.

Something makes him turn, glance back.

He glances back and sees Takahiro step down, off the train.

Against the crowd, against the odds, Takahiro's bright eyes find Issei's. 

His breath hitches, and his feet are rooted to the ground, and a shiver shoots its way up his spine _._

  
  
  
  


(In winter it blooms.)

  
  
  
  


It doesn't feel the same.

Their eyes are stuck on each other and Issei tears his gaze down to crawl it down and down over the length of his tall form, and it doesn't feel the same.

It isn't that faded, polaroid love he was clinging to. 

He feels-

Something bumps against his back and shoves him forward, or maybe something yanks him in, and Issei almost stumbles, almost trips over himself but catches himself in front of him.

His chin jerks up and he's caught up, falling.

He swallows, lost in that gaze.

He's wrapped up in a powder blue coat, jeans thick and clinging to his legs and his gloves are fingerless, more fashion than comfort.

Issei likes it. His mind is already coming up with the best way to frame an excuse to hold his pale, slender hand.

He's gotten just a bit taller, carries himself straighter.

Takahiro's eyes are brighter than before, observing Issei almost shyly.

'Hey.'

Issei's mouth feels dry. '..Hey.'

'You look- good.'

'And _you_ look beautiful.' _Too much_ , he thinks. 

His cheeks bloom red. He's always blushed easily. 

'Fuck off.'

Issei laughs breathlessly. _Maybe not too much, then._

They inch closer, jostled by the crowd boarding the train.

Takahiro wets his lips. 'How- how are you?'

'Alright.' _As best as one can be, with you in the back of their head every moment of the day._ 'How are you?'

A beat. 'Fine.' _Fine?_ Issei's eyebrows furrow for a second.

'Okay. You- uh. Need a ride?' he offers. 

He huffs out, his breath is cold steam and Issei wants to warm him up. 'Yeah, sure. Thanks.'

'It's.. it's no problem.' _Anything for you._

  
  
  
  
  
  


The conversation is suddenly seamless. Easy. No sight of the stilted texts from right before it had ended. Issei is- hanging onto it, reaching again, almost hopeful.

_What is this? What's this feeling?_

Heat. 

Issei finds gold in every word, every brush of fingers.

Every glance over the console is charged, the conversation almost flirty. Takahiro argues with him on the correct way home and the right turns to take and over where which old haunt is and tells him his beanie is really fucking ugly.

Issei feels a burn in the pit of his chest that he hasn't felt in years.

He parks the car and counts. He's made Takahiro laugh loudly thrice, in the twenty minute long drive.

Takahiro shivers, and Issei pulls off his beanie and tugs it down over his head.

His hair is a pale shade of pink, bangs covering his forehead. 

The beanie really is ugly, he admits to himself. Looks good on him though, and he says as much.

Takahiro doesn't move to take it off, says, 'Thanks.' His mouth is tucked into his scarf, but Issei sees the way his lips tug up at the corners.

He can't hide his own smile.

A pause. Issei doesn't want to get out of the car. Wants this moment to last a bit longer. 

'Are you-' 

'How long-' 

They both stop, and catch each other's gaze and laugh.

Issei turns and hides his flush into his shoulder. His heart is racing.

'Go ahead,' he says.

Takahiro hesitates, then blurts out, 'Are you free this weekend?'

Issei tilts his head, pretends to mull it over. 

Mostly he's just holding back the trumpets playing in his head.

He grins.

'I could clear up my calendar.'

Takahiro shoves him roughly in the side and Issei bumps into his car door almost painfully and laughs louder and brighter than he has in years. 

'Asshole.' He's _beaming_ , he's beaming.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say. Issei's heart is fit to bursting in his throat.

Takahiro makes to shove him again and Issei grabs his wrist, laughs.

'Yeah, fine, alright! I'm free, I am. You wanna-' He almost holds it back, but Takahiro is looking up at him with those lidded eyes and it spills out without his permission. 'You- you wanna come over?' _Please._

Takahiro purses his lips. He's hiding a smile.

Issei's hand slides slowly, hesitantly up to touch his fingertips.

_Say yes._

Issei watches his gaze, his other hand tight and almost vibrating on the steering wheel. 

Say yes.

'Okay. Yeah,' he says. His smile curls his lips and his fingers push against Issei's for a split second. 'Yes.'

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Issei walks him up to the door, holds himself back from kissing him on the doorstep like he had once, years ago.

He narrows his eyes at Takahiro's mother, wills her not to say anything. 

He had tea with her last week and she didn't tell him Takahiro was coming. He declines the offer to come inside, jokes she'll get bored of him.

Takahiro looks confused at the familiarity. She just looks amused.

Issei is too old for this.

He walks back down the driveway and looks over his shoulder to the door a grand total of twelve times. Astounding, considering how small the driveway is.

Leaves crunch under his feet and he opens the car door and the inside smells faintly of Takahiro's cologne.

He's biting into his smile and waves at Takahiro's little sister through the window as he starts the car.

She looks delighted.

Issei's beam is probably as bright.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Issei opens the door and clutches at Takahiro's nape as he's hugged to within an inch of his life. 

He laughs openly into Takahiro's scarf covered neck, murmurs, 'Hello to you too, sweetheart.'

'I'm home,' Takahiro says breathlessly as he pulls away. 

Issei's smile goes soft, tender.

For the first time in years he feels warm, knowing they're back here in a place where they consider each other home.

'You're home,' he agrees, and pulls him inside.

_He's home._

**Author's Note:**

> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/caandlelit/status/1339146691820261376?s=20)


End file.
